Catch a Falling Star (Second Chances Book 3) (18 page)

“They’re the ones who pulled their funding from Ben’s show.” It all made sense. All of it. “Ben asked me how I would feel about turning one of my books into a play, a musical the other day. He must have already talked to those two about it, must have asked them to support me.”

“You’re going to turn one of your books into a musical?” Tasha perked up.

Jo shrugged. “I haven’t said yes. But I have to admit, it would be fun.”

“Musicals of any sort are high-risk productions,” Charles warned her. He stood to the side, stirring his cup of coffee. Jo hadn’t even been aware that he was paying attention. “They take a huge investment of capital, and with a big investment comes a lot of liability.”

“Still, a romance novel as a musical sounds like it could be a hit, right?” Tasha reasoned.

“Like I said.” Jo shrugged. “Fun. At the very least.”

“Try using the word ‘fun’ after you’ve worked on a production that the Pollard twins have produced,” the make-up tech, Julie, spoke up from the door to the dining room.

“You’ve worked with them?” Jo asked.

“Once.” That was all the answer Julie needed to give.

“But if they say they’re going to do something, they’re going to do it,” Charles added. It was hard to tell if he was speaking in their favor or against them.

“I don’t like it,” Yvonne spoke at last. She’d stopped pacing, but her mouth was tight, and the lines around it deep-set. “I’d bet my Benz they’re the ones behind Ben’s problems.”

“They are,” Spence said, almost reluctantly. When all eyes turned to him, he shrugged. “He pretty much told me and Simon so.”

“That’s it. I want them out of the house,” Yvonne said.

“Fifteen minutes are up,” Moira called from the other room. “Get back to the set.”

Like clockworks, the actors and crew members throughout Jo’s kitchen and dining room dropped their food, drinks, and cell phones and wandered back to the living room.

“I’m going to get rid of them,” Yvonne said, staring down the hall toward the foyer.

“Hold off for a bit.” Jo sighed, rubbing her head. “I have to think about this. No, what I really have to do is call my agent to see what she thinks about this.”

Yvonne arched a thin eyebrow. “What you
actually
really have to do is talk to Ben. As soon as you can,” she conceded as the noise in the other room peaked.

“Ben, on the set, now,” Moira called from the living room.

“I’m coming,” Ben snapped from the hall with all the fire of a dragon.

“Oh boy,” Yvonne sighed.

“I need to call Diane,” Jo agreed.

“Aren’t you glad to see us, Pumpkin?” Ashton cooed in imitation of Yvonne.

“No,” Ben answered. Dangling carrots in front of him from Manhattan was one thing. He drew the line at invading Jo’s house. “Please leave now.”

“But don’t you want to know why we’re here?” Jett’s grin told him that the answer was definitely no.

“Why?” he asked anyhow.

Jett reached into his coat, draped over his arm, and took out a folded stack of papers. He crossed the foyer to hand it to Ben. Ben took the papers and scanned them.

His scowl deepened. “It’s a contract for Jo.”

“Right in one,” Ashton said.

“And I think you’ll find that the terms are beneficial to you,” Jett added.

Ben scanned the pages faster. Most of the beginning was boilerplate, like other contracts he’d signed for financing—dates, amounts, rights, creative control. Halfway down the third page was a short section allotting him a sum with enough zeroes behind it to send a chill down his spine.

“This is an absurd amount.” He cursed the fact that he voice was hoarse.

Jett shrugged. “It’s the amount we’re willing to invest to get the project done.”

It wasn’t even his compensation for directing. All those zeroes were in way of a finder’s fee. Ben shook his head. “Jo isn’t stupid. She’ll get her agent or a lawyer to look at this, and they’ll cry foul right off the bat.”

“Then get her to sign it before her agent looks at it,” Ashton said.

“Her agent is Diane Glick, isn’t it?” There was a spark in Jett’s eyes that sent Ben’s stomach churning.

He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he continued scanning the contract. By page four, he’d found what he was dreading. Loss, liability, compensation, write-downs.

“You
want
this to flop.” It was a statement, not a question. He let his hand holding the contract drop and glared up at Jett’s eyes. “You’re going to deliberately make this fall apart.”

Jett shrugged. “It happens. A lot. But when it does, what a lovely tax write-off it makes.”

“Why would you sink millions of dollars into a production that you know is going to fail just so you can write it off on your taxes?”

“Life imitates art?” Jett suggested.

In fact, it was almost exactly the plot of a well-known musical. Only Jo’s show wasn’t going to be an accidental success. There had to be more to it, other investments the Pollards had made that were going to push them into dangerous financial territory without a loss to off-set them.

“No.” Ben thrust the contract back at Jett. “I’m not going to subject Jo to any of this.”

“Any of what?” Ashton shrugged. “Flop or no flop, do you know how much publicity this will give her?”

Ben’s lips twitched. He clenched his hands into fists.

“Just the whisper that one of her books is being made into a lavish Broadway musical, and stores won’t be able to keep copies on the shelf,” Jett said.

“Yeah,” Ashton added. “Don’t you want to see your little sweetheart hit the bestseller lists?”

So they knew, did they? Knew that Jo was more than another fling. Knew that he wanted her to be more. But how could they? He was barely willing to admit to himself how much he cared about her. The Pollards were known for taking risks, but this was too random a gamble, even for them.

Unless it worked.

“I won’t give her this contract.” He crossed his arms. Final was final.

“Ben, on set, now.” Moira’s call didn’t shake him from his stance, but his eyes darted sideways. If he delayed too long, someone would come get him.

“I’m coming,” he shouted over his shoulder.

“We could always approach Miss Burkhart directly,” Ashton suggested. “Think she’d go for that?”

“No,” Ben answered, knowing no such thing.

“Or we could forget this whole thing and leave well enough alone.” Jett lowered his eyes to a coy smile. Ben’s gut sank further. “If you want to come have a little chat with us about some people we all know in New York.”

Ben’s flash of triumph at cutting through the bullshit to get to the heart of the matter was short-lived. “Your book. You still want to write that trashy book.”

“You got it, baby.” Ashton sneered.

Jett silenced him with a sharp gesture. “We want a book or we want a tax write-off. You want your life back. We know a few people who owe you money that would be glad to release those funds after all with a little coaxing.”

“You’re responsible for that too?” It came as no surprise.

“See, this is really quite simple when you boil it down.”

“Ben! Get your ass in here,” Moira shouted.

“I’ll be right there.” His temper was towering. He could cave in tell a few secrets, sell a few people out, and protect Jo. Or he could sell Jo out, possibly helping her career in the process, and likely lose her forever. Or he could do absolutely nothing and watch the Pollards dance on the ashes of what had been a great career. Either way, the Pollards were the house, and the house always won. Oh happy day.

He swiped the contract out of Jett’s hand. “I’ll see what I can do,” he mumbled, leaving it at that and stomping out of the foyer to the living room.

“We’ll see ourselves out,” Ashton called behind him.

And good riddance.

Except it wasn’t good riddance, because every direction Ben turned, someone was going to get hurt, and it would be his fault.

Chapter Fifteen

“Yep. Yep, Leon, I understand.”

Jo peeked up from the spread of manuscripts on the coffee table in front of her. Ben had been on the phone for all of five minutes, but in that time, he’d gone from lounging in a chair, reading a book, to pacing back and forth behind the sofa where she sat, so tense she worried that one wrong step and he’d shatter.

“I get it. It’s perfectly reasonable,” he went on, raking a hand through his hair so hard Jo worried he’d draw blood from his scalp. She tried to focus on the piles of scripts in front of her, but it wasn’t going to happen. “No, I understand, really, I do. It’s nothing personal. You’re a businessman like any other businessman, and I’ve become a bad investment.”

Jo swallowed. It wasn’t the first time in the last few days that he’d had calls like this. Each one tied her stomach in knots for his sake. They weren’t good. Neither was it good that since the Pollard twins’ brief appearance at her house two days ago, the calls had come more frequently and drained more of the color from Ben’s face.

“Thanks, Leon. I truly appreciate it.” He paused. “I know, I know. It is what it is. Thanks. Bye.” He tapped his phone, then lowered it to his side, letting out a breath.

“Everything all right?” Jo ventured.

“No.” Ben’s snapped answer came too fast. Misery practically dripped off of him as he rounded the edge of the couch and plopped into it. “Everything is decidedly not all right. I’m being evicted.”

Jo didn’t know what was worse, the news itself or the fact that it didn’t surprise her. “That sucks.” Lamest reply ever, but it was all she could manage.

Ben’s sagging sigh became a bitter laugh, and that pinched into a grimace. He hid it by rubbing his face and growling. “Two weeks? Was it two weeks ago or three that I was sitting on top of the world, ignorant of evil?”

“Closer to three.” Jo picked up another of the scripts on the table and flipped through it, if only to take the pressure of her watching off of Ben. It was the least she could do.

“At least I’ve got a few dollars in my bank account again.” Ben let his hands drop to the couch cushions.

“Yvonne make sure you got paid early for
Second Chances
?”

Ben nodded. “Living off of the charity of friends.”

“Hey, you’ve got some pretty nice friends, you know. I’m technically living off their charity now too, since the only writing I seem to be able to squeeze out these days is for these scripts, and I’m not even supposed to be doing that.” She swatted at his leg with the script in her hand, but the gesture ended up leaving an awkward lump in the air between them.

“Whatever pays the bills?” At last, a smile formed on his lips, even though it was a weak one.

“It’s all I’ve currently got.” Jo met his pitiful smile with one just as pathetic. “Unless I want to waste my time writing a book no one would buy.”

“I’d buy it.” He studied her for a moment, let out a breath, then stared out the picture windows at the vast, white landscape outside of the house.

The crew of
Second Chances
had come by earlier in the morning to film a few exterior shots from the patio, which had left tracks and scuff marks in the otherwise pure white. Everyone had the day off, since it was Sunday, which had given Jo a chance to go through several
Second Chances
scripts to see how screenplays were written. She’d also sorted through manuscripts for a couple of the books she’d published, looking for one that she could envision as a Broadway musical. The problem was, none of them seemed quite right. What worked between pages wasn’t necessarily going to look good with a full chorus and orchestra, as the
Second Chances
scripts seemed to be telling her.

“You don’t happen to know of any good books about writing for stage and screen, do you?” she asked when Ben had been silent for too long.

“I know lots of books about both.” His quick answer surprised her. She hadn’t thought he was paying attention. He turned to her. “Is Charles still interested in having you get your writer’s union card so you can work on the show?”

She tilted her head to the side and nodded. “He did mention something. Yvonne thinks I’d be good at writing television. But I’m more concerned about this musical idea. I can’t adapt a book into a play if I don’t know the first thing about playwriting.”

The tiny sliver of contentment on Ben’s face vanished. He stared out the window again, jaw tight, eyes intense. The reaction sent a chill of warning down Jo’s spine.

It also caused a spark of anger to flare. Making a musical out of one of her books had been his idea. Why was he so close-lipped about it now? And what was with everyone telling her she should be making changes in her career, but then leaving her totally on her own when it came to actually making those changes? She’d called Diane to tell her about the Pollard twins’ offer, but all she’d gotten on that end was a few hems and haws and a promise to look into it. Not that she should have expected more. Still, a little guidance would be nice.

“Bye, Jo. I’m heading out.”

Jo’s burst of anger evaporated as Nick stuck his head into the room. He wore the coat with a thousand pockets that he called his “adventure coat,” and had his duffle bag slung over one shoulder. She shot to her feet.

“Where are you going?”

For a half second, Nick’s glance flickered to Ben. “I’m all for filming the show at the house, but I’ve kinda had it up to here with people everywhere. I need to get out and recharge.”

Jo’s shoulders dropped. Another source of support bailing when she needed back-up. Then again, she couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from it all.

“Let me know where you end up, so I don’t worry.” She marched past Ben to meet Nick by the hall, and hugged him.

“Call me if anything happens,” he murmured so Ben couldn’t hear.

“It’s all under control,” she told him with a teasing grin. Yeah. Big lie.

“See you when I see you. Bye, Ben,” Nick called, turning to go.

“Bye,” Ben replied, distracted.

Nick left, the door clicked shut behind him, and Jo returned to the sofa. She stared at the pile of her manuscripts, then at Ben. Gorgeous sex god as he was, right then he looked more like the poster child for a midlife crisis.

“Come on,” she said, holding out a hand to him.

He blinked at her hand, then up at her. “Come on what?”

She nodded toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve been cooped up in this house for almost two weeks, barely leaving the property. You can’t tell me that’s normal.”

“It is normal when you work from home.”

Whether his protest was genuine or teasing, she chuckled and reached down to grab his hand and pull him up. He came, but she could feel the heaviness, the hopelessness, in his body.

“Having a film crew shooting in the house where you happen to be staying is not the same as working from home. And you shouldn’t let it keep you from getting out and breathing some fresh air.”

“I have laundry in the dryer.”

Jo laughed. “Laundry in the dryer is no excuse for turning into a hermit. Now come on. We’re going out.”

“We’re not going to the beach again, are we?” Now he was teasing. He followed Jo out of the living room and into the hall, to the coat closet. “My feet still haven’t thawed from that little excursion.”

“Your feet are fine. Trust me, I know.” She did know. She’d felt them at the end of the bed for the past few nights. Ben hadn’t just moved into her house, he’d skipped across the hall and moved into her bed too. She wasn’t complaining, even if she should.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he continued to protest, even as he shrugged into his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

“I can’t look at it anymore,” she answered seriously. “Personally, I’m not sure if any of my books would make a good musical.”

His silence and the way he avoided her eyes set her teeth on edge. She would have said there was something he wasn’t telling her, but she was pretty sure there were a thousand things he wasn’t telling her. So why did she keep him around? Why hadn’t she sent him on his merry way?

Because she liked him. The reason was as true and as dumb as that.

“So how is writing an actual, new book coming along?” he asked as they walked through the kitchen and out into the blindingly bright chill.

“I can’t think about that right now,” she sighed. “Not with this play idea gnawing at me. Well, and the script for the next episode that Charles wants me to look at.”

“He wants you to make changes?”

She shook her head. “No, but he wants me to take a look, then maybe talk to the head writer.”

Ben was silent. As they climbed into her car, his expression was thoughtful and cautious. He stayed quiet as she drove down the driveway and out onto the main road. A reassuring sense of ease came over her as they traveled the familiar roads. When she was in the thick of writing a book, it wasn’t unusual for her to go days without leaving the house or talking to another person, except online. Even still, when she wasn’t in that part of the process, nothing felt better than physical movement, a change of scenery, even if it was still part of her routine.

“Okay. Enough silence,” she said as the miles rolled past, the sunshine on the snow cheering her. “Are you depressed about being evicted?”

He darted a sideways look at her. “Wouldn’t you be?”

She nodded. “Fair enough. But I know you, Ben. This is about something else.”

“Do you know me?”

His question was a shade too harsh. The hot, numb feeling she hated so much ran down her back.

“Yes.” She opted for boldness. “I think I do. You’re an artist who is currently out of his depth. And before you protest, I know all about that.” She couldn’t stop there. “Why do you think I was so attracted to you in the first place, enough to sleep with you an hour after meeting you? Do you think I do stuff like that all the time?”

He opened his mouth, remorse lining his face.

“No, I don’t.” She didn’t give him the chance. “In fact, I’ve never done anything so crazy or so dangerous in my life. But do you know why I did? Because in that coffee shop, in that moment, I had this weird feeling that you and I were a lot more alike than not.”

He shut his mouth, leaned his elbow against the bottom of the window, and rubbed his mouth.

“You don’t believe me, but it’s true. We both struggled to get where we are in professions where only a select few actually succeed, and we both know the taste of fear that we could lose everything we’ve worked for. So I’d appreciate it if you’d stop hiding in your shell and start trusting me with what’s eating you.”

The anxious, numbness spreading across her back burst into prickles that raced through her entire body. Whoa. She’d actually said all that. It was the kind of thing she would have put down on paper, but she’d never imagined she would actually work up the nerve to say it.

Beside her, elbow still leaning against the window, Ben smiled. He didn’t look at her, the lines around his eyes were still rife with tension, but he reached out his left hand and rested it on her leg, squeezing.

Of all the damned things, tears stung at the back of Jo’s eyes. Men were such idiots. They had as many emotions as women, but God forbid they would actually say something like, “You’re right. I should trust you. I’m afraid of where my life is. I need support.” Oh no, instead, they kept their perfect lips shut tight, and with one touch, made the women in their lives weepy sacks of empathy.

They reached the parking lot of the local grocery store. Jo turned the car in and found a spot. She cut the engine, then let out a breath and looked at Ben. He was still staring out the front windshield, a million miles away. Still miserable.

“Hey. It will be all right,” she said.

He looked at her, arching one doubtful brow.

Jo shrugged. “Yvonne says you should concentrate on the things that you have right now instead of fretting about the ones you may or may not have lost. That sound like solid advice to me.”

“So you’re on Yvonne’s side now?” His voice was low and rough, as if he hadn’t used it in weeks.

“I’m on her side because she’s on your side, and you know it.”

He hummed. That was it. A second later, he reached for the handle of the car and opened the door. It was all Jo could do not to growl and kick him when she got out of the car herself. Whatever was bothering him, it was going to reach a crisis point, sooner than later.

So this is what a conscience feels like
.

Ben indulged in a wry grin as he rolled over the stabbing pain that kept shifting between his gut and his heart.

“You can put those bags on the table,” Jo told him, nodding to the kitchen table as they each carried armfuls of grocery bags into the house.

“Okay, boss.”

She grinned at him.

All right, he wasn’t exactly being fair with himself. He had a conscience. More of one than was convenient for him to have at the moment. Otherwise, he would have sold out everyone and their brother to the Pollards years ago to get what he wanted. But did that make him feel better? Not at all.